


It's Not a Real Party Until Someone's Small Clothes are Pinned to the Chantry Board

by elffyness



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Drunken Shenanigans, F/M, Inquisitor gets wasted, Let them have fun!, Orlais, Party, a game of wicked grace, drunk! Cullen, it's what she deserves, not canon, the dark corners of my brain made this, this is what we really wanted from wicked eyes and wicked hearts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-07-28 23:56:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20072731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elffyness/pseuds/elffyness
Summary: To celebrate the start of Bloomingtide, Madame de Fer has cordially invited the Inquisitor and her inner circle to attend her traditional Orlesian salon. As the party drawls on, Leliana and Josephine have a better idea, and during the salon, talk the Inquisitor into accepting an invitation to attend an exclusively wild party being thrown upstairs, for the famous by the famous, without the restraints of The Game. With promises of endless food and alcohol, anonymity, and the chance to live it up as Evelyn Trevelyan and not the Inquisitor, she accepts, unsure what awaits her.A mini-series I got excited about and decided to write as a fun break from my other work.Hope ya'll enjoooyyy <3





	1. Prologue: Another Day, Another Party

Clinking glasses and murmurs flecked with gossip whisked their way through the grand hall, spiraling up gilded staircases of gold and tickling the ears of the party attendees. Miniature cakes topped with butter-cream whisps were delicately held by noblewomen and men alike, yet not a single confection had touched the lips hidden beneath their masks, save for one single woman on the outskirts of the room. Light danced upon the ivory white and rhinestone mask adorning Evelyn’s face which had been unceremoniously tucked to the side to make room for the Orlesian treat in her gloved hand. 

Her stomach growled awkwardly, and she reddened, thankful for the orchestral music which covered the sound. Madame de Fer had graciously extended an invitation to the Inquisition’s advisors and inner circle to attend her traditional salon marking the start of Bloomingtide, and she insisted they accept. The air had begun to warm, and with it came the sweet smell of fresh flowers which adorned the hall like fine art. As kind as the gesture had been, Evelyn couldn’t help but wish with every bone in her body that she was back in Skyhold. A Fereldan to the core, she had no interest in Orlesian games and politics. She began to carefully unwrap the delicious looking morsel in her hands. 

“Who in their right mind would have a party where no one can eat?” she grumbled quietly to herself, the lengthy obsidian hair Josephine had painstakingly braided up and away from her face already slipping out of their assigned places on her head. Evelyn settled for scowling at the nobles around her who had not even deigned to taste a single piece of food served since the party began several hours ago. 

Her stomach growled again, louder this time, sounding more like an angry mabari than the hunger pains of the Inquisitor. She turned her eyes back to the food in her palm, punishing it with her stare for making her fantasize what it might be like to consume it. It was the worst form of torture, and she began to salivate at the delicacy. 

When Vivienne had dispensed their invitations, she had made a point to brag about the many courses of food and wine that would be available, and Evelyn had taken it to heart. She shook her head in disappointment-- she should’ve known it was all just for show. Five courses had come and gone and not a single person had taken a bite. She narrowed her eyes at the cupcake. 

No. Orlais be damned, she would eat this cupcake.

Evelyn hastily glanced around from her spot in the corner, to make sure no high-society noble was watching her. They were all preoccupied complementing and commenting on the fine craftsmanship of the cupcakes, and do give their thanks to the chef mwah! Evelyn rolled her eyes.

The coast was clear, and quickly, she opened her mouth to take a bite out of the cupcake…

Which was smacked out of her hand by a woman masqued in the black feathers of a crow. Evelyn wanted to cry, and instead glared into the eyes of her cupcake assassin. Leliana wasn’t difficult to recognize, even with the mask of the grand game adorning her face. The all knowing blues were standard to her look. Evelyn, now irritated beyond belief and tired from the long night of avoiding as many nobles as possible and being abandoned by her inner circle snapped at her spymaster.

“Quick question: Why?!” 

Leliana shrugged gracefully, and took Evelyn’s arm in hers, parading her away from the scene of the crime. A dull ache echoed in her heart, and her mouth felt sad and empty. The hunger was starting to wear on her, and her shoulders sagged with every movement.

“You would not have liked it. Orlesians fill the cupcake with bitter and sour meat, in contrast with the light and fluffy exterior.” Leliana pat Evelyn’s arm like a child, and she looked back to see her once delicious cupcake squashed beneath the slipper of a servant elf. 

“It is to serve as a reminder of the duality of life-- there can be no good without the bad, and no bad without the good.” Evelyn groaned internally as the two of them sauntered past the crowds making their way through the glowing room. She eyed Leliana wearily.

“They couldn’t have just said that? They had to incorporate it into their dessert?” Her eyes searched the throngs of bodies, hoping to catch a glimpse of any members of her inner circle. She knew Dorian should be here, he had seemed all too happy to accept the invitation, yet his curled mustache was missing from the various faces. There was no doubt in her mind that Sera was here somewhere too, if anyone was to be blamed for the various belts going missing on the dance floor. One could imagine the result, though Evelyn didn’t need to since she had gotten a fine look at the Duke of Wycome’s fur-covered breeches. She scrunched her nose at the memory-- it must’ve gotten hot down there. 

Her eyes wandered the crowd, but there was no sign of any of them, not even Cullen or Josephine. Evelyn now noticed they were approaching a balcony at the far end of the hall. Looking around, she noted how there were less and less people as they stepped on. She turned a suspicious eye to Leliana.

“Where… are you taking me?” She asked, not bothering to hide distrust in her voice. A sly smile crept its way onto Leliana’s porcelain skin, her eyes obscured by the softness of the feathers. She squeezed Evelyn’s arm reassuringly, and the click of their slippers marked their passage as the balcony came closer and closer.

“I don’t believe I’m incorrect in assuming you are tired of this party, no?” She lilted, orange hues of evening becoming visible in the distance. The warmth of summer began to curl around Evelyn’s body and she hummed in appreciation-- for a party filled with lights and bodies it was disturbingly cold inside the Grand Hall. 

“I can’t say I’m fond of it,” Evelyn started, chewing on her lip. Though there weren’t many people nearby, she was distinctly aware of the face that she needed to choose her words carefully. “My apologies to Lady Vivienne, wherever she might be,” Evelyn added as an aside, just in case. Her fingers drummed restlessly on Leliana’s forearm. She couldn’t help but glance around for any listeners, as if what they were saying was scandalous and damning all together. Evelyn was positive if Lady Vivienne managed to pick up on her comments, she would never hear the end of it.

She sighed internally, thankful at least that the party didn’t mimic the fiasco at the Winter Palace. Evelyn could reasonably believe that she wouldn’t have to stumble across murder and dead corpses in Lady Vivenne’s halls. She was too meticulous to leave such things lying about.

As if to support her criticism of the party, her stomach erupted in a growl once again, this time loud enough to be heard by Leliana. Evelyn clutched at her middle in embarrassment, Leliana giggling, her free hand covering her mouth politely.

“Well now, my dear Lady Evelyn, Josie and I have a delightful proposition for you,” She whispered, her voice low and her head tilted. Evelyn looked at her questioningly, and Leliana nodded to the edge of the balcony. Following the movement, Evelyn came face to face with a mask of glorious gold and purple, ruffles cascading beautifully down black hair. She couldn’t help a squeal of excitement and relief at the sight of her friend.

It had been a long night of tiptoeing around Dukes and Chevalieres, and a stark absence of friendly faces after “dinner”. Although “dinner” was actually a group of servants carrying various plates of spit roasted nug, racks of ram, marinated snoufleur, and everyone watching and applauding. Evelyn’s stomach protested the memory, resisting the desire to imagine the sweet smells of cooked meat in great detail. She nearly teared up.

Evelyn pulled Josephine into a dramatic hug, pressing the back of her hand onto her forehead, as if she were a fainting duchess.

“Oh Josie! It hast been three long years since I have seen thoust beautiful face! Praytell where have you and mine glorious companions been all this time?” She exclaimed, her voice loaded with an ancient Imperial accent. She fluttered her eyelashes for good affect and the three of them burst into hushed laughter.

“Well…” Josephine trailed off, eyeing Leliana with a grin. Evelyn appraised them both at arms length, an eyebrow raised. In this case, the two of them looked like the fennec that caught the hare. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust them, it was just that she absolutely didn’t trust them. One was a spymaster, and both of them had been Orlesian bards. That was reason enough to question most things they said!

The pair were staring at each other, as if trying to decide which one would divulge the secret first. Leliana raised her eyebrows at Josephine expectantly and the latter threw her hands up in the air in resignation. 

“Oh, all right!” Josephine exclaimed, loose hair flying about and taking Evelyn’s hands in hers. Josephine looked at her through the mask, eyes bright and the corners of her lip upturned in excitement. She leaned in close, peering around as if to make sure the three of them were actually alone. With all the secrecy, Evelyn was nearly on the edge of her seat. What could explain her friends’ disappearances, coupled with her advisors excitement?

“Leliana and I have secured for all of us invitations to ‘La Soirée de Païens,’” She whispered hurriedly in Evelyn’s ear, before leaning back and nudging Leliana in excitement. Confusion swept over Evelyn. Another Orlesian party? Evelyn had picked up a little Orlesian from Leliana and visiting nobles over time, yet the meaning of this phrase escaped her. Brows furrowed beneath her mask, she asked the two women what in Thedas they were talking about. A breeze tickled her face, blowing her loose hair about.

The warm air had begun to chill around the three of them, the first stars peaking out amongst the twilight sky. Mountains in the distance framed the landscape of the Orlesian apartment, a beautiful scene indeed. Leliana began to explain quickly and quietly.

“La Soirée de Païens is an upscale Orlesian party, a tier even higher than the gatherings used for the purpose of the Grand Game,” she began, her eyes glowing in excitement underneath a jet black mask. “They serve only the finest wine and drink, and only the most famous can enter with invitation.” Josephine nodded in confirmation of Leliana’s explanation, looking pleased. Evelyn didn’t hide the disappointment in her face while she crossed her arms. 

“So… It’s this exact same party... but richer?” She drawled, her excitement snuffed out at the prospect of being caged once again in the social confinements of Orlesian culture. Josephine shook her head wildly, placing a hand on Evelyn’s arm. 

“It could not be farther from it. Roughly translated… it means ‘The Evening of Heathens.’ It is a party meant to serve your greatest pleasures and indulgences. The events that take place are for enjoyment only. There are scandalous games, regular drinking, the richest foods, and gambling,” Josephine described, having trouble maintaining her composure. She twiddled her fingers in her hair excitedly as she babbled about how exclusive the event was and how incredible it was that they had received an invitation.

“And everyone is there already too!” Leliana interjected, her own glee present in her voice. Evelyn looked at her incredulously.

“Everyone? Including our very own Commander Cullen?” She gasped auspiciously, teasing her Commander even though he wasn't nearby to hear her.

Underneath her mask Josephine winked.

“Especially your Commander Cullen,” she teased, and underneath the shining rhinestones of Evelyn’s mask hints of blush were beginning to form.

With that knowledge in mind, an elated feeling came rushing back to Evelyn as her mind filled with thoughts of gorging herself on delicious meals and drinking ale till she couldn’t walk straight. And perhaps, with enough courage in the form of alcohol… Commander Cullen came to mind. They had been close friends for a while, yet she had not yet taken the next step forward. Every Wednesday they met for a match of chess, a _somewhat_ friendly meeting that had started out as a distraction for both of them. Now, these games divulged into late nights filled with teasing and childish bantering in the glow of Skyhold’s hearth. Echoes of his playful laughter warmed her heart long after the embers of the fire had cooled, and she had returned to her lonesome bed. Evelyn was quite curious to see where the guise of the party would spin their relationship, She couldn’t stop the sly grin and she nearly jumped up and down with her friends, who appeared just as happy as she was. 

Finally, a chance to party like she wasn’t the Inquisitor! 

Her stomach dropped. But she WAS the Inquisitor.

“Wait,” she halted their celebration, and the three huddled closer together. From a distance they must’ve looked like they were formulating a strategy before entering a battle, with the way they were whispering and looking around rapidly. Evelyn looked between her companions, scrutinizing each one before divulging her concerns.

“There must be consequences to our actions. The Inquisitor and her companions can’t really be seen engaging in heavy drinking and fraternizing with various people of fame. It’s too good to be true,” She mumbled, though a tiny voice in her heart hoped to the Maker that she was wrong. Leliana and Josephine did not seem swayed, raising the little voice higher and giving her hope.

“It is a party **by** the famous, **for **the famous,” Leliana elaborated. “This means that whatever happens at the party, stays at the party-- away from the prying eyes and gossip of common nobility.” 

“Everyone of repute will be indulging themselves tonight, and you will see it. If you keep quiet about their affairs, they will stay quiet about yours,” Josephine added on. Leliana cut in once more.

“And if that doesn’t seal the deal for you, all participants are gifted a standard mask and dress, to create anonymity-- in true Orlesian fashion. They even give you a false name for the night.”

They smiled at her.

“Do you wish to join us?”

Evelyn looked between the two of them one last time, a swirl of emotions filling her. From her fingertips to her toes, excitement was jolting through her. The breeze was stirring now, and the sky had transformed from its Summerday sunset rays to a raven streaked navy. The murmur of guests floated in from the hall coupled with the sweet scent of Orlesian roses climbing the walls of the balcony.

Her heart thumping at the sweet thought of escape and wild fantasy, she smiled at her friends.

“Allons, à La Soirée de Païens.”

  



	2. Dawnstone is a Cheesy Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! I appreciate each and every one of you for taking the time to read my little work. I'm definitely enjoying where this story is taking me. Quick note: in the previous chapter I described Evelyn's hair as silverite-- that's a mistake, I intended it to be black so I went ahead and fixed that. SECOND: I'm trying to detail a little set up to Cullen and Evelyn's relationship and I hope it is working well! I kind of struggle with describing romance and things so I would appreciate any feedback on what makes sense and what doesn't. I'm going to go back and edit the first chapter a little so the relationship seems comprehensive to this point. Anyways, I'm rambling, so enjoy the second chapter :)

Mind swirling with endless possibilities and heart stuttering with excitement, Evelyn followed Leliana and Josephine through the halls of Madame de Fer’s (or more accurately, Duke Bastian’s) apartment. Watched by Orlesian lions prowling the walls, she enjoyed a thrilling feeling of excitement running through her veins. It was certainly scandalous: the idea of some of Vivienne’s most star-studded guests at her dinner party disappearing to attend a secretive and raunchy gathering being put on in her very own complex. 

Ever since she had become Inquisitor, Evelyn had attempted to restrain herself from participating in various tom-foolery, as much as she might’ve liked to. The title came with responsibilities she was determined to uphold, lest the public eye give her grief about it. It wasn’t often she had a chance to let her hair down-- metaphorically and physically.

At that, she subconsciously picked the braids tucked into her head like a crown. Normally, she had to take care to ensure her hair wasn’t caught in the throes of combat, so it was often tied up and braided away. The habit of practicality had slipped into her day to day life, in contrast to how she was determined to let it loose when she resided in the Magi Circle of Ostwick. With so much out of her control there, it was her small act of rebellion, a tiny sip of freedom. The very same cooling flavor now poured over her like a misting waterfall. The armor of the Inquisitor would fall, and so with it, status. She pulled her thick braids out of their assigned spots and let the black coat her shoulders, scents of royal elfroot and dawn lotus furling out in waves.

Her breath caught in her throat and she pressed her fingers to it, wondering if she would recognize her friends at the party, or if they’d be able to recognize her. Her finger twisted in her hair, mouth growing dry. 

_ I wonder if **he’ll** recognize me... _

Fantasies clouded her mind in a haze and she imagined his strong hands guiding her by the waist in the crowded party. She could feel his fingers flexing in her mind, reaching up to tuck away a stray hair behind her ear, leaning in close to her, whispering sweet confessions and twisted secrets while cradling her head close. Her grip tightened on her hair as she imagined running her hands down his body, telling him how she felt about him, hoping he’d feel the same way…

_ Cullen. _

She raised a hand to her face and covered the blush she knew was there, along with the delighted grin. Despite the excitement she paused, a barrage of questions erupting in her mind.

Just what was she planning on doing if she managed to find him? If he even managed to see past the anonymous disguise and fish her out?

Could she tell him how she truly felt? How her gaze lingered on him when he crossed the battlements for his daily inspections of patrols? Or how she had all too often imagined the chess table between them scattered to the ground and them on top of it instead? How she struggled time and time again to beat him at the game because the scar on his lip drew her eyes away? He must know some of those things already, given away by his playful smirk when he spotted her eyes drifting down again. He would tease her about it incessantly, asking her if it was too hot in the room as blush attacked her cheeks, or pretend to check her for fever. She would swat away his feigned concern, mumbling some excuse that only furthered his assumptions. Try as Evelyn might, she knew her chess opponent could read her like a book.

Under her hand, a smug grin found its place on her cheeks.

Though Cullen often had the upper hand at chess, tonight he would be vastly out of his league, more so than Evelyn would. 

If she chanced on the Commander, she decided it would only be fair to return the favor he had dealt to her every week.

Tonight, he was at her mercy.

Evelyn was pulled out of her thoughts as the threesome came to a stop in front of an immense sculpture of Andraste. It was a relief, carved into the wall, yet alive and physical as if she could reach out and touch her holiness. Andraste held an empty bowl in her hands, arms extending out of the stone, surrounded by holy flames which licked up the sides of her body. Her eyes seemed to search the faces of those who stood before her as if asking for a tribute to make a passage. 

Leliana, stepping forward, reached into the pockets of her Inquisition appointed royal garb and produced a pale blue elixir. Not quite lyrium, the little bottle appeared to give off its own careful light, and Evelyn looked on in aw at its swirling beauty. Noticing her stare, the redhead peered back at Evelyn and shook the bottle over her shoulder.

“Our invitation.” 

She uncorked the glass and poured its contents into Andraste’s stone bowl. As it collected at the bottom, the liquid appeared to shine and shimmer, pleased to be reunited with its basin. The relief seemed to groan in pleasure, and the rim of the bowl began to light with the familiar blue. It was absolutely mesmerizing, and Evelyn felt her lips part as she watched the magic work. A cerulean glow lined the statue, and a resounding scrape marked the passage of the art piece as it slid into the surrounding wall, revealing a doorway to a room of jovial laughter and warm light.

Sucking in a breath, Evelyn froze, the doorway too close, the unknown in reach. She felt the first traces of doubt creep into her heart. She was nervous, and why shouldn’t she be?

Her hands grew wet with sweat while she stood in the face of her last chance to change her mind. So many things could go wrong tonight. She could end up in bed with a mysterious lover, only to find out he was a spy for Corypheus, or she could get much too drunk and reveal her identity to masked faces who would blackmail her and destroy the Inquisition from inside out. More realistically, she thought with Cullen's visage leaping before her eyes, and heartbreakingly, she could completely ruin her friendship with the Commander. She could hear various voices laughing real laughs and joyous bodies swaying and dancing to the upbeat sounds of music inside.

Her heart longed to join them, as these sounds of real happiness were not easy to come by. 

Leliana and Josephine, arms linked and about to walk in, noted the absence of their friend and turned back to look at her, faces under the masks dotted with concern. 

“Evelyn,” Josephine’s Antivan thick accent called her with care. Evelyn looked to her companions, observing their comfort and naturality in the room that lay ahead. Standing together, the camaraderie was evident, and there was a promise of adventure and excitement in their pose. The two of them extended their hands out to her in a kind gesture of friendship, encouraging her to take the leap and relinquish responsibility for a moment in time. 

_ For one moment _ , Evelyn thought, _ just for a night _, and she let herself slowly extend her arms to place her hands in theirs, fingers interlocking. 

_S__he would take the leap._

It was a commitment and a promise, and she knew then that whatever would happen, wherever the night would lead, her closest friends would be there for her all the way through. 

They all shared a secret smile before yanking Evelyn forward with a stumble, bringing flushed giggles as they finally entered the secret room. 

* * *

It was like entering another realm. _ No, wait. _ It was like sinking down into the steaming hot water of a bathtub and letting the bubbles hug every inch of your skin, blissfully covered in the knowledge that you could just simply exist. Evelyn allowed her eyes to scour the scene before her, appraising the astonishing number of people in the room. Bodies were draped languidly on piles of ruby red plush pillows covering the floor. Loveseats and recliners of the finest quality appeared warm and inviting, their armrests embroidered in gold leaf twists. 

The lighting was dim as well as soft, casting a silken glow over Evelyn’s masked face. The three of them stepped into the entryway, her boots’ clicks on the linoleum floor seeming too abrasive for the murmurs of lovers and caresses of dancing. Her head turned as she caught sight of laughing disguises, toasting their drinks and flowing in and out of the room. Jolly music filled her ears and senses, her heart slipping into a wild sprint as if it were chanting _ yes yes yes yes yes! _

The moment was stilled for only a few seconds before everything began to catch back up to speed. She couldn't help searching for a familiar lip scar or a shock of blonde until before her a man appeared, petite, yet light on his feet, a smiling mask who took her hand in his with a sweeping bow.

“My Lady Inquisitor, may I say what a special treat to have you grace our presence tonight,” he addressed her, bringing her leather gloved knuckle to his lips in the attempt of a kiss. He was dressed in a loose, white, long sleeve dress tunic, its ties at the collar left to hang about and lowly exposing his tanned chest. Elvish ears peaked out behind strands of long blonde hair. Though taken by surprise in her search for the Commander, Evelyn studied the man in front of her. As much as she tried, she could not deduce his identity and settled instead for a tip of her head in greeting.

“It is my first time in such a place, forgive me for my manners Ser…?” She trailed off, heaving forth another attempt to figure out who this mysterious rogue was. He graciously let her hand go and now bowed his head quickly in a show of respect.

“You may call me Wildcat, my Lady,” his voice hinting at the lilt of a smile. “Worry not about such formalities tonight, for in these rooms titles are stripped away, as are the weights each of those phrases may bear.” He then addressed himself to Leliana and Josephine, taking their hands and repeating the respectful greeting he had given to Evelyn.

“Lady Nightingale and Ambassador Montiliyet, it is a pleasure to see you again,” he straightened up, running an agile hand through his meticulously combed hair. Leliana bobbed her head in acknowledgment while Josephine gave him a small curtsy.

“Wildcat.”

Wildcat shone with joy and put an arm around the shoulders of the Inquisitor- a stretch for him at his height, but nonetheless, he guided her away from her friends. Evelyn, unsure at where this man was taking her, shot her friends a worried look. Leliana simply waved, and Josie suppressed a giggle at her retreating form before they were guided away themselves by servants in demure black uniforms. Reluctantly, Evelyn turned her head back and followed the lead of her mysterious helper, eyes resuming her search for the Commander. Instead, she found herself absorbed in the furnishings of the room, her sight glazing over beautiful artworks and life-size busts covering the walls.

Wildcat noticed her awestruck face and chuckled, squeezing her arm with his lithe hand.

“I am sure you have a great many questions about tonight, as well as the charming man now guiding you, my dear Lady Inquisitor, but I promise you it will all be explained in time,” He explained, his voice low and gravelly, yet rhythmic, like a song. The grind of his voice surprised Evelyn, and she looked at him suspiciously while they moved. He seemed at home in the environment, sounds of all kinds speaking around them, rising like the tide of the ocean. At some point, the voices would lower and subside, no more than a quiet hum, yet at others, they crashed over her like wild waves. 

“Are you the host of tonight’s gathering, Wildcat?” She asked, distrust sneaking in her tone at his sudden interest in her. The mask mischievously turned towards her in their walk, seemingly smiling at her. 

“I am indeed,” he confirmed. “It is a great honor, one that usually trades hands in a small circle of select infamous individuals, such as our many guests.” He waved a hand dismissively. “It was necessary to throw this soirée, as I have never seen so many heroes so uptight in their dealings of the world since Corypheus appeared,” Wildcat rolled his eyes. “_ Oh blah blah blah, we’re all going to die, we have to save the world, we are the heroes, _ ahh,” He brought a hand to his head dramatically. “You see, when everyone is talking about the world ending, no one has time to talk about me, and that simply won’t do.”

He brought her to a room to the side of the parlor, filled with clothing of all manners and walks of life, as well as a few servants running about with masks and uniform white linen folded in their arms. He let her out of his grasp and gestured to the room around them.

“And so, a party, yes?” he said to Evelyn, his words seemingly floating by her ears as she marveled at the grand scale of the scene unraveling in front of her. The room was paneled with dark mahogany, its sheen reflecting off the light from the burning sconces pasting the wall. In front of her was a large table, similar to the one they had in the war room, yet in the place of maps and markers were spools of white linen and the glint of gold foil. Various tailoring instruments were neatly contained in boxes along the surface, and measuring tape was strewn about the room. Servants stood at the ready, pins and needles between their fingers.

Wildcat smiled and lightly pushed her into the waiting arms of the servants, who eagerly and efficiently guided her to stand before them as they whipped about her with twine and measuring tape. 

“Ahh, well, we really must get you dressed my Lady. Since our guests are usually regulars, they tend to already own the appropriate wear,” he explained lazily, watching the servants go to work on her. Wildcat noticed Evelyn’s shuffle of embarrassment at that, and laughed, waving off her discomfort. “Worry not, we always have tailors available to outfit new and surprise guests alike. It is no trouble at all.”

Evelyn was shocked, allowing her arms to be lifted by servants “tsking” about her. 

“I… thank you, that's, well, very gracious,” she stammered out, still embarrassed. Wildcat simply chuckled at her stutters, going on about her being adorable and just like another first-time guest he brought here tonight.

Wildcat’s words drifted by her again, and Evelyn turned her attention down to her slightly too big Inquisition vestments, her face mimicking its color. As much as Evelyn had tried to persuade Josephine to change the garb into something less gaudy, she always resisted, insisting she looked lovely in the bright red jacket. Picking at the gold buttons now, she thought of the various books in the Circle library, detailing Orlesian culture and traditions, of beautiful women wearing beautiful dresses. Days of attempting to alter her robes ever so slightly, of dreaming of satin white flowing down her figure, ran through her mind now.

“Now my dear, we have a few options for you in terms of clothing...” Wildcat paced about the servants, hard at work twisting various instruments around her limbs and waist, seeking her measurements. He pulled forward three armor stands, yet in the place of rough and sturdy leathers, linen dressed the metal figures. Evelyn’s eyes widened, scouring the choices delivered to her, her sight immediately drawn to the centerpiece. 

It wasn’t a fancy dress like the one Orlesian nobles wore to the ball, nor was it even a dress they walk about the street in. It was humble, a tunic much like the one Wildcat wore, yet this one had a slit up the leg and its deep v-shaped collar was embroidered with gold trimmings. Simple twine crisscrossed the v, able to be tightened and closed if desired. Tight long sleeves, embellished in similar embroidery to the collar, and loosely fit to hide the wearers' shape. It wasn’t an Orlesian satin dress, but it was enough.

“I’d like the tunic if it’s not too troublesome,” Evelyn sounded out, eyeing Wildcat for a reaction. He simply smiled, his golden mask lifting slightly with the rise of his cheeks.

“Fine choice, my Lady. You will look absolutely ravishing tonight,” he spoke slyly, his lips curling mischievously. He snapped his fingers and the servants responded, picking up the fabric and handing it to Evelyn, who took it bunched in her arms. She looked at the servants, who watched her expectantly and at Wildcat, who appeared to have no shame as he stared at her plainly, waiting for her to undress. 

Evelyn’s blush grew and she looked around for some kind of cover to change behind and found nothing. She twisted a finger in her black locks, sputtering, red spreading by the second.

“C-Could you-, I mean, is there--” She mumbled, embarrassed, and Wildcat sighed playfully. She caught a sly grin on his face as he spun about, not leaving the room, yet facing away for some privacy. The servants followed his lead, moving away to organize the mess of items on the table.

“My Lady, I must admit I am disappointed that I will not get to appraise your lovely figure, but not at all surprised.” He said with a chuckle, staring up at the ceiling while Evelyn shrugged off the hot jacket. “I will say though, if stripping down in front of a stranger is your limit for the night, you will quickly run out of things to do.” Evelyn’s heart raced at the implications, dark rooms and soft, scarred lips coming to mind.

She folded the jacket neatly and placed it on a nearby chair, followed quickly by her gloves, boots, and pants. Standing only in her undergarments on the cold linoleum floor, she promptly slipped the tunic over her head, pleasantly surprised that it fit fairly well already. She twisted around, trying to see how it looked and felt a warm feeling bubbling inside. She was undeniably attractive in the tunic, even without it being properly fit. She happily noted they would not have to make many adjustments. 

Wildcat took her pleased hums to mean she was ready, and turned back, his smile somehow growing even wider. 

“My… Lady Inquisitor Evelyn, no one can match your elegance, even in such simple clothes you shame all of Thedas,” he gushed, taking her arm in his and spinning her around. Surprised, Evelyn barely managed to keep up, clumsily twisting her body and moving her feet. Though she probably looked as if she had fumbled her way through the movement, she felt exhilarated, like a princess in her own special fairytale. She couldn’t help the grin splitting her face in two. 

Wildcat stepped back and allowed the servants to finish their work, tightening loose sleeves and cinching waistbands. When they were satisfied, they wheeled over a full-body mirror, and Evelyn’s jaw nearly slipped out of place. She had never had the luxury to wear even a semi-formal dress tunic, and seeing her armor-clad body accentuated like that of a woman was more than surprising. 

For she was no longer a soldier, a mage, an Inquisitor. She was a person, a person with a figure, with wide hips and a long neck and lithe legs that were strong and delicate fingers to be held. She had a mane, cascading black curls, and waves that ran to her lower back, that longed to be combed and fisted and pulled. She had lips, soft lips that saw little care, that wished to be nourished with the taste of another. 

She was Evelyn.

Wildcat let her watch herself in awe, smiling while she touched various parts of her body as if it were someone else’s. He understood the feeling of forgetting what it was like to be a person. When she had finally proven to herself that this was her own body and not that of another's, he produced to her a new mask, decorated with the familiar pink-purple sheen of a mineral that made its home in L’Emprise du Lion.

“Welcome to the party, Dawnstone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo what do you think of Wildcat? is it too obvious hehe? worry not! disguising voices and things will be discussed in the next chapter when it all really comes to life ;* Again, thanks for reading :) <3 you all warm my heart.


	3. A Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the meh chapter guys! I planned to add a little more but it seemed like a good place to stop, and I'm still trying to get the hang of this writing thing. I plan to update again soon unless college apps decided to drag me under and stab me in the face haha. With that said, enjoy some Adoribull moments :)

As Evelyn stared into the ornate mirror on the wall, light refracted off her glistening new mask, causing her to touch the mineral with calloused finger-pads. After outfitting her in an appropriate dress, Wildcat had shooed her off, encouraging her to mingle amongst the guests and enjoy herself with multiple innuendos. Her reflection laughed softly-- she found it strange that she hadn’t recognized Wildcat, given that the members of this party were supposed to be incredibly famous. Her musings were cut short when a flirtatious whistle reached her ears.

“My, my, look at you all entranced with yourself.” 

Evelyn twisted away from the decoration, searching to find the source of the call. Wiggling fingers drew her attention to a man draped over the lap of another, a smirk dusting his tanned skin, only a quarter of his face visible under his mask. The rest of his dress was not so modest, his collared shirt completely unbuttoned, revealing a toned set of abs underneath. His profile appeared to be nearly enveloped by the floral designs punctuating his masquerade.

A blush danced on her cheeks as she took in the mysterious man.

He was reclining on a large hooded figure, whose physique was explicitly muscular. Grayed, thick hands dangled a branch of freshly picked grapes over the lips of the languid man who had called out to her, his hands nursing a chalice of velvet purple wine. It was enough to remove her initial heat at the sight, and Evelyn had to stifle a giggle of amusement. The pair really appeared to be living up to the true nature of the party.

She must have been staring for too long, because the olive-skinned man rolled his eyes beneath his mask and impatiently waved her over. 

“Hire an artist to capture the moment if you must continue to stare.” He snapped, indignantly allowing himself to be fed a grape from the much larger man. Evelyn approached, amused by what was unfolding in front of her, but with curiosity nonetheless.

“I doubt even the most talented painters of Orlais could capture this…” She trailed off, unsure what words could appropriately size up the moment. 

“This.”

A snort erupted from the flowered man. The large qunari(?) holding the grapes guwaffed heartily, shaking him with his massive, heaving chest and causing him to glare up at him. Evelyn squinted, trying to seek out familiar horns beneath his hood. His own mask was a dark gray stone, with shocks of cobalt crusting the edges. 

“Our favorite Lord here is a bit of a spoilt brat,” He spoke, his voice a higher frequency than Evelyn had expected. She raised a brow suspiciously as her predictions that she was talking to her qunari companion were put on hold. Evelyn watched as the man teasingly dangled the fresh grapes above his partners face, and chuckled when she saw him swat them away, the exposed part of his mouth turned down in a scowl. Though he appeared to be sassing his companion at every and any opportunity, the man was clearly comfortable in his position on the grand thighs of his “friend.” It was obvious they had crafted a delicate balance of existence. He took a swig from his chalice and turned to her.

“Evelyn my dear, you really ought to get yourself a drink or everyone will instantly recognize you by your wide-eyed innocent voice,” He chided her, his voice dropping several registers from when had last spoken. Her eyes widened momentarily before narrowing, searching his face. Her ears picked up on a similar kind of voice mismatch that she had heard with Wildcat’s low timbers. The man pretended not to notice, or perhaps didn’t care.

“Normally it’s just something I’d find rather adorable about you, but tonight is the one night you deserve to live under the mask of anonymity.” He tipped his glass towards her affectionately before taking another sip. Evelyn’s dark brows furrowed, and her brain rushed to put the pieces together.

_ Rather adorable about you... _

Suddenly, a knowing smile spread over her face as the Tevinter mage became clear as day right before her eyes. Dorian raised his eyebrows beneath the mask, the revealed corned of his mouth tipping up.

“Do you ever turn off the charm m’Lord? I’m certain you just gave yourself away with it.” She retorted back, falling into the easy banter they had designed with one another on rough days in Skyhold, when the reported casualties were high and the success rates were low, sheltered in his nook. Evelyn frequently escaped to it, knowing it was the one place she could take a break from all the responsibility without interruption, as Dorian guarded his spot like a snarling hound. 

Her heart warmed at the memory. In a way they often felt like twin flames: Evelyn never fit in at Ostwick’s Circle, longing to rebel and escape the prison, yet found herself enamored with the Templar guards and how some of them could be so sincere in their protection. Her heart swung like a pendulum between the failings of the order and the humanity that embodied them, much like Dorian strived to change the Imperium to what it could be instead of what it had fallen to.

In any case, they understood each other well. 

“Ahh! And she makes the connection!” He toasted to her, the slightest slur to his voice and she snickered, staff worn fingers covering her lips. How much had the man had to drink tonight? 

Shuffling sounds turned her attention to Dorian’s chair, or rather, the person he had repurposed for that. Gray skin, wide chest, hood covering… what would it cover? 

Horns…!

She zeroed in on the qunari, his muscles rippling beneath the tightly buttoned shirt… Iron Bull! Evelyn wasn’t surprised and a grin split her face instantly. 

As much as Dorian loudly and colorfully protested her teasing in Skyhold’s tower, (various books can attest to their abuse) Evelyn knew he was absolutely full of it. Well, perhaps not absolutely, she knew there were some real qualms he had about “fraternizing with the enemy,” but she saw through his little glances and mumbled retorts. There was no denying he had feelings for Bull, and she was glad to see he had decided to give him a chance. Knowing she had recognized him, a smile glistened across Bull’s cheeks as he tutted her, wagging a finger like a mother scolding a child.

“Now, now Boss, it takes away from the fun of the party when you go around trying to figure out who everyone is,” He taunted good-naturedly, and Evelyn could imagine him winking with his one good eye beneath the mask. “You can call me Silverite.” He pointed with a thumb to his chest. Dorian was wriggling about trying to steal the heavy mug in the Qunari’s large hand, (apparently he had drained his own chalice), and he amused himself by raising it just out of reach. Clearly, Bull was still sober, unlike a certain very antsy mage. He gave in and poured some of his drink into Dorian’s chalice, placating him for the time being.

“This pretty boy here goes by Crystal Grace,” he teased, and the two of them watched as red bloomed on the quarter of his face that wasn’t covered by the delicate floral arrangement. He ruffled his hand through Dorian’s prim curls as vengeance for stealing his drink. With the realization that it was Dorian, Evelyn managed to catch the twirl of his mustache just peeking out from under his mask as his mouth flew into a scowl.

“ _ Vishante kaffas! _ Do you know how long it takes me to style my hair you smelly oaf!” He sputtered, twisting to glare at Bull and only earning himself another laugh. Bull smiled down at Dorians’s twisted form.

“You like it.”

The tension between them was thick and charged, Evelyn beginning to feel awkward, till Dorian stubbornly broke eye contact with his partner, turning back to her. 

“Ignore him, you need a drink in your hand and a guide on your arm, I can’t stand to watch you fumbling about awkwardly like the Commander.” He looked at her quite pointedly while he said this, her crush no secret to be kept from him. She laughed demurely, trying to wave it off.

“The Commander? Awkward you say?” 

Dorian paused mid-sip to look at her incredulously.

“Even you can’t be so naive! Do you think he’s always as flushed as nug skin, or does he just knock the chess board over when you’re looking the other way?” Heat creeped up the back of Evelyn’s neck staining her tawny skin to a warm terra-cotta, and her hand began to rub the back of her neck. No, she hadn’t really noticed that in their evenings together, too focused on her own heart pounding louder than war drums, and a heat radiating from her core blazing greater than the hearth illuminating their figures. 

As if remembering herself, she folded her arms across her chest self-consciously, causing Dorian to chuckle at her expense and, standing, intertwining his arm with hers.

“Don’t worry my dear, I made sure he won’t be spilling his drink all over you tonight,” He winked at her, or at least she thinks he tried to. She almost doesn’t want to know what he means, but it is Dorian, so she must ask, lest she risk his offense.

“Tell me you haven’t poisoned him,” she jokes lamely, accepting his arm as they bid a parting wave to Bull. The pair began to make their way through the parlor, having to weave their way through an extremely rowdy crowd which had taken to betting on an arm wrestling match between an extremely large rock like creature and a very inebriated dwarf. 

“Only with Sun-Blonde Vint-1-” He held up an arm to deflect her smack of disapproval. “Which-” He shoved away a man who had stumbled into them. “Is fitting to his character, and is strong enough to fluster even a tranquil,” He said with a wink and Evelyn pressed distressed fingers to her forehead in lieu of attempting another attack on the Tevinter.

“So your plan was to get him drunk and… what?” The statement etched its way out of her, weighed down by admonishment and anxiety. Whatever ideas Evelyn may have had of romantic banter and a dashing confession leading to a slow dance underneath the moonlight were quickly shot away. In fact, she was more concerned about the typically stoic Commander. 

He had told her bits and pieces about his background, the fall of Fereldan’s circle, harrowings, chantry life. The hollowness in his eyes explained the rest. Alcohol may be an efficient gateway to happy thoughts and more than one memorable mistake, but it could just as easily throw you down a pit of regret and despair. 

They finally made it out of the room, a resounding “Oof!” sound marking their departure. Evelyn peeked back to see the dwarf who had been in the wrestling match fall from the wall he had been thrown at.

“...And give him the liquid courage to stop twiddling his thumbs like a little chantry boy and finally get to the only bright spot he’s had in his life since he joined that miserable order!” He exclaimed to her. The only bright spot in his life..?

Her mouth felt a little dry and her heart jumped again. She chose not to reply-- she didn’t want to get her hopes up if Dorian was wrong. Instead, she observed her new surroundings, arm in arm with her friend.

It came to Evelyn’s attention that they had made their way into a dining room. Her eyes widened and blurred with tears as they hungrily ran over the exquisite dishes laid out buffet style on the stretch of dining table in front of her. Dorian grinned and offered her a plate she accepted gratefully. 

“Andraste’s tits I am so hungry…” She groaned, putting Cullen out of her mind and piling an ornate plate with food of all origins and kinds. Blessed apple pie, a piece of nug-nug, Fereldan cheese, and more quickly cluttered Evelyn’s plate with fervor. Before she could dig her way into a seemingly Qunari dish, a chalice sculpted in the image of a lion was thrusted in her face by ringed fingers, twilight purple sloshing inside. Evelyn’s eyes met Dorian’s questioningly.

“Drink.” 

She shrugged and obliged, lips closing around the rim and swallowing several gulps of the thing. It went down with a pleasant shudder, warm tingles wrapping around her throat, and coating her mouth. She swallowed, running her tongue around her teeth and across the roof of her mouth, a magical buzz filling her senses and a spicy flavor dancing about. 

“What is this--?” she started to ask, but immediately snapped her mouth shout in surprise at the foreign sound resonating from her vocal chords. Her normally dulcet and lilting voice had sunken to rich and sultry. 

Dorian scoffed, a pout on his lips. 

“Of course you had the fortune of an alluring voice, while I’m over here sounding like Blackwall with a cold.” His inebriation, though held in check, was slipping through the edges of his words as he held the l’s in Blackwall’s name for too long. Evelyn’s fingers touched her lips softly, and she looked at him with questions forming in her mind.

“Is it magic or herbology?” She eyed the chalice in her hand, making a humming sound deep in her throat to test out the new range and flex of her voice.

He shrugged, taking a swig of his own drink before leading them towards a tall table at the side of the room for the two of them to eat and drink at.

“Both is my guess. That is one of the perks of knowing some of the most talented people across Thedas.” Evelyn placed a piece of braised hare leg in her mouth, the flavor wonderful and quelling her hunger. Following suit, Dorian-as delicately as he could at this stage of drunkenness- ate a spoonful of seasoned grains, savoring the taste. “You get to be the subject of all their experimental potions and designs.”

The dining room mimicked the design of the Winter Palace, with floral wallpaper scaling the parlor walls. A single chandelier illuminated the room, various candles placed about the table. Fountains of drink punctuated the long table, where some were filling their plates, and most others reclined on ottomans or stood at tables similar to Dorian and herself. 

“You know my dear, you still have yet to tell me your name,” Dorian reminded her, pointing a fork halfheartedly in what she assumed was supposed to be her direction. In reality, he was titled off to the left, but she would let him have his moment.

“My sincerest apologies, Crystal Grace.” She teased him, a smile playing on her lips as he rolled his eyes, even more dramatically than usual.

“You may refer to me as Dawnstone.” 

He let out a bark of a laugh at that.

“Ha! Is it just me or did Wildcat purposely name us like common whores,” He ran a hand through his hair carefully at this, attempting to undo some of the damage Bull had wreaked earlier. Evelyn chewed her food, a grin splitting her face again as she pointed her own fork at him, mimicking his earlier sentiment.

“If we were prostitutes I dare say I’d be more expensive than you, Crystal Grace.” A challenge laced through her voice, the magical drought (she now realized it was mixed with alcohol), starting to work its ‘magic’ on her.

The two of them erupted into laughter over their table, drawing few eyes, the rest of the guests too caught up in their own joy to pay much attention.

“Let’s not turn this into a cat fight Dawnstone, we all know Crystal Grace is the rarer material, meaning  _ my  _ services would be worth at  _ least _ last week’s paycheck.”

“You’re no Dragon’s Breath, only Dandelion wine for you,” she laughed, alcohol bubbling about as she took another gulp.

By now she had nearly finished her plate, ignoring the fact that she must seem ravenous to her companion. Her eyes scanned the room, searching for anyone that would resemble Cullen. 

“Where, praytell, did you leave our dear shit-faced Commander, Crystal Grace?” Evelyn drawled casually, though she had begun to feel antsy. She admitted it, she desperately wanted to see him, though she wouldn’t let Dorian in on that little secret today; He had quite enough ammo on her as it was. 

“Naked in the nearest bedroom,” He said stone faced, and cheekily dodged her flustered swat once again. Her face was scarlet now, and she leaned close to him, covering her masked face even further.

“ _ Dorian! _ ” she hissed quietly, scolding him like a mother, and he put his hands up defensively.

“Fine, fine! Andraste preserve me you two worriers are made for each other.” He poked at her forehead teasingly. “My, you even have matching stress wrinkles.” She simply glared up at him. 

“Your templar in shining armor is fine Dawnstone, we shared a few glasses of wine and I imparted wisdom on him that you will thank me generously for later. He was then graciously removed from the claws of my influence by someone who, I assume, recognized him, ” He explained nonchalantly, waving off her concerns. He winked at her. “He’s no stumbling drunk yet, it was only a two glass conversation, but I did count at least three strands of hair sticking out of that painstakingly kept mane.”

Evelyn sighed, pushing around a leftover pile of Free Marcher noodles on her plate with her fork, a little relieved the mage hadn’t incapacitated Cullen like he implied. He smiled fondly at her reaction and gave her a friendly one armed hug. 

“Don’t worry Evelyn. I wouldn’t mess this up for you, it’s a rare luxury for the Inquisitor to follow her passions without consequence,” he said quietly, care and a sense of knowing hidden in the throes of his speech. A glass broke somewhere across the room followed by careless laughter. Evelyn looked at him and found genuineness in her friend behind the drunken glaze, remembering the way he looked at Iron Bull with care and reverence that had been waiting to be unleashed, and she knew he was speaking from experience. She smiled back, putting a comforting hand over his and leaning into his shoulder.

“You’re a good friend Dorian.”

“The best.”

She rolled her eyes and let a cheeky smile play on her lips.

“The best.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woooo Evelyn finally got to eat! And we got a little taste of Adoribull!! Still no Cullen yet though... unless ?


End file.
